Charlie Bangs Sweet Dee
by yuffiehighwind
Summary: Over the last twenty years, Dee and Charlie have drank together countless times, and not once has something like this happened. Until tonight. Charlie/Dee.


_**Summary: **__Over the last twenty years, Dee and Charlie have drank together countless times, and not once has something like this happened. Until tonight._

_**Notes:**__ Charlie/Dee. Takes place some indeterminate time between Seasons 8 and 9. Quotes and references a particular scene from "Charlie Rules the World" a few times. The three lines of dialogue about robots are from an episode of the cartoon Sealab 2021 called "I, Robot." This fanfic also alludes to Dennis/Dee, but not enough to tag it. Inspired by a prompt I found: "Come on...Nobody has to know." Sexually Explicit. _

* * *

**Charlie Bangs Sweet Dee**

It's been far too long.

It's been nearly _three years_ since Dee's had sex, and while Rex had been a quality lay - (and, to be honest, way out of her league) - any memories of their fling have begun to fade, and after years of loyal service, Steven has been worn out completely. Not even a battery change can bring him back. Dee would get a new toy, but buys a smartphone instead. It vibrates too, but also makes phone calls and checks email. She could even play TechPocalypse on that thing, before Dennis deleted her account.

_Press enter hard, or with one slow push?_

"God _damn_ it, Charlie!"

"What? What am I doing wrong?"

Dee can imagine Ruby Taft coaching him, a man 10 years her senior, patiently undoing all his incorrect assumptions about what a woman wants instilled by over two decades of pornography. They were together for less than a week, so it was probably a crash course in pleasure Charlie has since forgotten.

"You elbowed me in the ribs, and you're crushing my legs. Move over!"

"It's kinda hard to do this on the couch."

Dee sits up and grabs her bottle of Bacardi off the coffee table. Their botched experiment warrants another drink, she thinks. Charlie takes it from her before she can have a sip, and Dee's eyes are drawn to his mouth, which is smeared with her lipstick.

Rex had been clean-shaven. Charlie's beard bristles and scratches at Dee's skin when they kiss. She hopes he washed his face recently. Dee tries not to imagine stripping the man down and forcing him into her shower, bathing him herself. These are drunk, sexually frustrated thoughts.

Selfish, disgusting Charlie Kelly can seem innocent and even gentlemanly when he wants to be, so Dee pictures Ruby washing his greasy hair and combing her fingers through it after. (Charlie has the kind of fluffy hair suited for this. He's got lucky genes - his mother's, not Frank's. Don't think about Frank!)

But Charlie's _not_ innocent, and Dee sees herself in him when he's cruel to her. It's frightening sometimes, those moments she looks at her friends and sees how horrible they all are. How _she_ is. Though not as clearly as when she and Dennis bond. (Don't think about Dennis, either.)

Virginal, before Ruby. That's the word she is looking for, not that Dee has ever thought very hard about Charlie in this context, lying on top of her and running his hands over her bare skin. Lifting up her shirt to rub her nipples with calloused fingers. Falling down and kneeing her in the shin, this time.

"Let me," she says, pushing him off her, then down into the cushions and straddling him. Charlie is still dressed from mussed hair to grungy sneakers, while Dee is wearing much less. She hasn't worn a dress in months - not since Maureen Ponderosa's wedding - but tonight Dee's put on a skirt. A short, sparkly one, because Dennis suggested a night out to The 700, or Rumor, then left Dee in the lurch. Again. To be with Mac, of course, claiming he forgot. Dee trudged into Paddy's Pub resigned to another dull night - (feeling rejected by Dennis and brimming with jealousy) - before snagging Charlie and demanding "Drink with me," which led to "My place has cable," which turned into "Let's play a game." Truth or Dare, but with only lies and challenges.

Dee rises to kneel and awkwardly pull off her panties - down one bent leg, then the other - a difficult task better tackled by a much shorter woman. Charlie watches while trying not to laugh, then averts his eyes when she hitches up her skirt. His modesty doesn't prevent him from grasping Dee's hips, however, when she settles on top of him. Dee thinks he doesn't realize his fingertips are tracing patterns over her skin.

Dee tries to picture anyone but Charlie gazing up at her when she sits back and turns her attention to unzipping his fly. It seems way too loud when she pulls it down, and that is _such_ a cliché. _Ziiip_. Oh hello there, erection! Dee rubs him through his briefs and Charlie hisses at her touch.

_"Ohh_."

"Shut up."

_"Fuck._"

Only stopping will shut Charlie up. Dee pulls down his waistband and wraps her fingers around him anyway. She squeezes and it elicits another sharp gasp, his breath becoming shallow. Dee strokes slowly, and Charlie's little moans and sighs turn her on. Part of Dee wills herself not to enjoy it. Sex has always been about her own pleasure. Whenever Dee focused her attention on someone else, it was to gain something, or because she had to. The other times were all for herself, and the sex wasn't ever out of love, either. No, Deandra Reynolds has never been in love.

It helps that Charlie showered today. Dee could tell when his lips were on her throat and his scent was all around her, unlike that day they played TechPocalypse, the last time he came onto her. Charlie was caked in dirt, never once bothering to remedy it, not even to wash his face, nor seeing any point. (Not that Dee had either.) Frank cleans Charlie up sometimes, when he isn't filthy too. Tonight Charlie's body smells like Irish Spring and his beard like Cetaphil. It's a pleasant surprise.

These details are all so vivid, Dee considers that, maybe, she's too sober for this. A few more shots and he'd be soft as dough, passed out on her couch while she sneaks off to bed. But she doesn't stop, and Charlie grows harder in Dee's hand. He's larger than she expected.

"Okay, let's do this," Dee says, climbing into Charlie's lap, but before she can go further, Charlie opens his eyes and stops her.

"Wait, wait, wait, hang on..."

"Why?" Dee asks. "You changed your mind?"

"Nah, nah, I just think it'd be better if I was on top."

"Yeah, no," Dee scoffs. "That doesn't work."

"Come _on_, Dee," he pleads, for the second time that night. Charlie shifts so she's off his lap and kneeling beside him. He extends a hand to cup her face, leans forward as though to kiss her, and it is suddenly all so strange that Dee turns her head and pulls away from him.

Dee stands up to swipe the rum bottle and take a long swig. She paces the living room, and from her peripheral catches Charlie leering at her backside. (It doesn't help that his erection is still protruding from his briefs.) His eyes are drawn to every curvy part of her, and it's both gross and flattering.

She may be plain - (her critics say homely) - and there is no doubt she's lanky as a giraffe, but Dee isn't _ugly_. She is tall and slender, and her bra is missing from her low-cut, silver top, because they pulled it out her sleeve like a couple of horny teenagers. And like some kind of fucked up psychic, Dee had the impulse to shave everything below the waist. A similar mysterious force compelled Charlie to bathe, apparently, predicting they'd fool around on Dee's couch.

Charlie motions for Dee to return to the sofa. "I'm a little confused," he says. "Do you want to have sex or not?"

Dee takes another sip of rum, then holds out the bottle to him.

"No offense, Charlie, but I need to be more drunk for this."

"None taken. I'm kinda buzzed, but I haven't browned out or anything..."

"What?"

"...so, unfortunately, I can still tell you're Dee."

"You had five beers and four shots." His tolerance for alcohol astonishes her, sometimes.

Charlie takes a sip, making a disgusted face. It isn't exactly top shelf.

"You were the one all over my sexy body just now," he says. Dee laughs mirthlessly. "I mean, even before the hand job, _you_ kissed _me_."

"You _dared_ me to kiss you!"

Charlie pulls up his pants, zipping and re-buttoning them as he speaks. "You could have picked Truth. I had a real good one ready, too."

"How was I to know you'd make a dare like that?"

Dee's known him for twenty years. They've drank or done drugs together countless times since, and not once has something like this happened. Maybe he knew she'd say yes this time. That she was counting on it.

A perceptive Charlie is worse than an attractive one.

Dee adjusts her skirt, pulling it down as far as it will go, feeling embarrassed and taken out of whatever moment compelled her to try and bang Charlie Kelly. When she turns around she sees he has picked up her panties from the floor and is twirling them on his fingers.

"Give me that!" Dee snaps, reaching for them. Charlie grins and holds them over his head, out of her reach.

"What the fuck, Charlie?"

He just laughs.

Dee nearly drops the bottle lunging for Charlie, who stands and backs away, evading her pursuit into the kitchen. He's still grinning, and Dee scowls, not feeling playful at all. The panties are black, cotton French cuts, because Dee isn't 27 anymore. At least they're not briefs, she thinks, which is an absurd thought to have right now, but she wants to feel sexy. As if a man who already wants to fuck her would care.

"Give them back!"

"Say please."

"No! They're mine and I shouldn't have to."

Charlie keeps the garment away from her like a football, causing the pair to become tangled in the kitchen's bead curtain and stumble into the dining table. It's only then that she wrestles the panties away from him and balls them up in her fist.

"I'm just messin' with ya," he says.

Dee says, "Well, don't," then turns and scoops up her bra, flung over the armchair, on the way to her bedroom. Charlie follows her, so Dee closes its doors in his face.

She makes a beeline for her underwear drawer first, then reconsiders just pulling on a fresh pair and removes her skirt altogether. It's a little late to kick Charlie out (not that it's out of the question), so yoga pants make a decent substitute, and she may as well put on a sweatshirt for good measure. He taps on the wood saying, "Dee," and she ignores him. "Don't be like this. Open up," he says, while she pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it on the floor with all the rest.

Why isn't Charlie at home beating off to pictures of the Waitress right now? What sparked between them after that very first round of drinks? (Dee could have been at The 700 finding a new man. She can still go without Dennis, but being out alone is pathetic at best and dangerous at worst, and Artemis won't answer Dee's texts anymore.)

When Dee first accepted Charlie's dare, she gave his lips a quick peck. She doesn't remember why she did it a second time, lingering a bit longer, but it had something to do with loneliness and Charlie looking cute, his tousled hair sticking out at all angles. He responded with a third, longer kiss, and though he was inexperienced, he was better at it than she expected him to be. She could guide his mouth with her tongue easily enough. She could teach him what she liked and how she liked it. She could lean back and let him brush his lips across her collar bone, and when he rested his hand on her upper thigh, she said, "Stop," and he replied, "_Come on, Dee…Nobody has to know." _Dee allowed him to climb on top of her, clumsily kissing and sucking on her neck, elbowing her in the ribs and kneeing her shins.

_Nobody has to know_. Our little secret, she thinks. A secret we will take to our graves, she reassures herself, even though it's inevitable the rest of the Gang will find out, because one of them will let it slip. Drunk again one night, she'll tell Dennis, who will tell everyone else to humiliate her. Charlie will probably deny it, because she is a thief and a whore and a bird. One who used to have lunch with him and let him cook stolen steaks for her, who she would scheme and do drugs with. He put cats in her wall, getting him banned from her apartment, but he would listen to her when he was high though he mocked her when he was sober. So Dee allowed him back into her home tonight, years later, to play drinking games and watch TV, because Charlie didn't have one and her couch was comfy and had no fleas.

There are no rats or screaming felines here to kill the mood, so Dee reemerges from her bedroom in nothing but a blue satin robe. Charlie sits on the couch, leaned over the coffee table drawing shapes in spilled beer.

"No one can know about it," Dee says. "Not Mac, not Dennis, and _definitely_ not Frank. I don't care whatever weirdo pact you two have, he can _never know_."

Charlie looks up sharply. To say he looks relieved she changed her mind is an understatement. He looks thrilled. It's strange, Dee thinks, being wanted by him.

"I don't want it getting out we banged either." He snorts a laugh. "I'd never live it down!"

"Do you still want to do this?" Dee asks, ignoring the insult, since she knows exactly how he feels. "Isn't it cheating on the Waitress?"

Flicking droplets of beer off his fingers, Charlie shakes his head.

"Nope."

"Because you're not actually a couple."

"_No, _it's 'cuz we're just, ya know, experimenting," Charlie says, and Dee thinks it's an apt word for what they're about to do. "_And_ I'm really drunk," he adds, though he isn't. "I'll just say you took advantage of me."

Dee rolls her eyes. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but...let's try this again."

She extends her hand, and Charlie stands up but doesn't take it. He clutches the rum bottle to his chest and approaches her.

"In there?"

Dee nods and leads the way. Once inside, Dee lets her robe fall, but Charlie makes no move to undress himself. She covers her breasts self-consciously.

"This is a bad idea," she says.

"Yeah, this is a really bad idea," Charlie agrees, even as he edges closer. Softly, he says, "What the hell are we thinking?" He leans in to kiss her and misses by several inches, his lips landing somewhere by her ear. He tries again and they bump noses, letting out a soft "ouch," before Dee takes the initiative to cup his face in her hands, tilting her head so their lips meet in something approximating an actual kiss.

"Dee..."

"Shut up," she says, sitting on the bed and pulling him down with her. She lies down and Charlie climbs on top of her, one hand still clutching the liquor bottle.

When it spills on her blankets, Dee exclaims, "Goddammit, Charlie!" but her cry is muffled by his scratchy beard and rum soaked lips. He puts down the bottle and it dribbles onto the sheets.

Charlie breaks the kiss to sit up and remove his T-shirt. He has some difficulty getting it over his head. Once he's thrown it on the floor, his hair is even more disheveled, making Dee smile, in spite of herself.

Charlie unzips his jeans again, and pulls them and his briefs down just enough to enter her. Dee opens her mouth to tell him it's unfair she's nude and he isn't, but he presses his mouth to hers, muffling her complaints. He has his dick in his hand, jerking himself hard, and as they're kissing she can just make out a mumbled, "Can I...?" between breaths. When Dee nods impatiently he replies, "Are you positive? Are you absolutely sure?"

"Just fuck me, you idiot!"

Dee swears in his ear when he finally does. She hisses _"Fuuuck!"_ before he's even begun moving, because it's been so long.

And nobody has to know. Only Charlie will know that Dee clutches her lovers' shoulders and digs her nails into their flesh. That she rocks her pelvis in time to her lover's thrusts, yearning for deeper and deeper contact.

Charlie - (the gang's nearly-40-year-old somewhat-virgin, before Ruby) - starts and stops, still unused to sex. Dee needs a steady rhythm to come, and to rub her clit. She wants to flip Charlie on his back and bang his _brains_ out, because she needs to be in control. When she isn't, she feels vulnerable, and very, very uncomfortable.

"Charlie," she says, and he doesn't register her voice, because it's softer now she's stopped cursing. "Charlie!"

"What is it, Dee?" he says, sounding annoyed. "You feel so _good_."

"Get on your back."

"What?"

"Roll over and get on your back."

Charlie squints at her, considering, then pulls out and lies down. Dee marvels at his obedience. Usually he's the most obstinate man she's ever met. Except for Dennis. And Mac. Frank is pretty fucking stubborn, too.

Dee straddles Charlie, half sitting on his rolled down jeans - clothes she wishes he'd discarded, along with the muddy shoes that dirty her bed, adding filth to the puddle of rum. Dee slides onto his cock anyway, rocking her hips, rising and falling. She lays her palms flat on his chest, Charlie's own hands on her hips sliding around to squeeze her buttocks. Dee speeds up and Charlie loudly moans at the sensation.

_"Fuck!" _is the first curse, followed by _"Ohhh shit, ohshit, ohshit..." _and a stream of expletives not typically heard from Charlie's lips, but at an octave she's well acquainted with.

He shouts louder the harder she rides him. Dee grins, and is amused, appalled _and_ aroused when Charlie says in a throaty growl, "Talk dirty to me, Dee."

"Excuse me?"

"Say something filthy. Say..."

"That you're a worthless, shit grubbing worm whose only value is as fertilizer once he's dead?"

"That's...not the kind of dirty I was looking for. I was thinking something like, 'Oh Charlie you have such a huge dick it barely fits!'"

"You have an average sized dick that fits just fine," she replies, but her voice breaks when she says it, and she doesn't slow down. Dee reaches down to rub her clit.

Charlie says, "Okay, okay, I can work with that," and Dee shushes him to concentrate on her building orgasm. After a while, Charlie says, "Dee..."

_"Shh!"_

"Dee, I think I'm gonna...oh shit, I'm gonna come."

Dee slows down, then stops moving entirely. With closed eyes, she continues touching herself.

"Don't stop!" Charlie says, groaning in frustration. "What're you doing?"

"Experimenting," Dee says, breathless. She rubs herself faster while Charlie watches curiously.

"You can move while you do that, ya know."

"Yeah, but I'm nowhere near close. I want to get there before you do."

"Get where?"

"_There_, dickweed!"

"Oh."

Dee remains motionless until she's on the cusp of orgasm, her muscles squeezing his cock when she begins to spasm. She resumes riding him, continuing to swirl her fingertips around her clit, until she comes hard, yelling a stream of curses loud enough to rival Charlie's, and _goddamn_ she _missed_ this feeling! She needs a new vibrator, Dee thinks, or she can just bribe Charlie with liquor and drugs more often. (A ludicrous thought that fills her with shame a second later.) This would feel incredible with cocaine, she thinks, remembering the two of them high and buzzing. Yes, that would feel so _good!_

Dee opens her eyes and glances down. Charlie has been watching her, looking awed.

"Beautiful," he mumbles, but Dee probably imagines it. She _wants_ to be called beautiful. "So fucking beautiful," she imagines him moaning, and Charlie grasps her shoulders to pull her down so he can kiss her, driving his tongue into her mouth, licking her teeth disgustingly. Dee's still riding the high of her orgasm and it's _hot_. She opens her mouth wider, and she rubs behind his ears, her fingers tangled in his hair. With Dee's body pressed flush against him, his jeans rubbing uncomfortably against her naked legs, Charlie thrusts in and out of her - (_pressing enter with one slow push) - _while she just lays on top of him, spent from her exertion. This is too nice, Dee thinks. This is abnormally nice. This is supposed to be quick and dirty and shameful. Instead, Charlie eases into her pussy almost gently.

"_Fuck, _Dee..."

Dee doesn't want to move and lose the warmth of this body she's embracing. She can even feel Charlie's heartbeat through his cock, and he wants to flip her over, she can tell, but he's too short. She wraps her leg around him and they flip her on her back together.

This is the part where Charlie bangs Dee. Where Dee lies back and stares at the ceiling as Charlie speeds up and she doesn't move her hips. She just lets him bang her, but they will both know this isn't how it went. There was no _letting_, no _allowing_. Dee banged _Charlie, _doing her "own thing" until she got there, finally, after three years without it. Charlie comes inside her with a jerk and an ugly face. He lets out a strangled moan, then struggles to catch his breath.

_"Shit,"_ he says, one last time, and Dee tries to resist running her fingers through his messy hair and kissing his forehead, or sucking on his bottom lip, then opening her mouth to touch tongues again. To resist remaining there, legs still wrapped around his waist, with him inside her growing soft.

Charlie breaks the kiss and withdraws. Lying down beside her, he pulls his pants up. Dee covers her own naked body with a pillow.

He's smirking.

"That was…"

"Shut up," Dee says, before he can speak. All his curses and kisses were confirmation enough that this was on par with Ruby Taft and made him forget the Waitress for half an hour.

"You're something else, Dee," is all he says, now, not looking at her. Dee turns her head and says, "No one can…"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. No one can find out about this."

They're silent for a few beats, before Dee says, "Somehow they're going to find out."

"Yeah. They're gonna find out."

"One of us is going to fuck up and tell someone. I can picture it. You're going to tell Mac..."

"And you're gonna tell Dennis," Charlie says, facing her. He props his head up on his hand.

"No way!" Dee says. "I would never!"

"You're gonna tell Dennis, and Dennis is gonna tell Mac."

"And Frank?"

"Well, Frank will just be able to tell."

Dee lays back and shuts her eyes.

_"Eww._ How?"

"Body language? I dunno." Dee can feel Charlie run a fingertip down her bare arm. Oh, no. This isn't gonna be a new "thing," is it? Does he like her now as more than a friend? They're barely friends as it is.

Oh, shit. Do _I_ like him now? Dee wonders.

Charlie curls up beside her and Dee leans into him.

_Gross, gross, gross_, she thinks, over and over, but fails to recoil in disgust when he places a palm on her stomach. Her breasts are covered with the pillow but the rest of her is still exposed.

"The way we act around each other?" Dee says. "We'll have to be more hateful than usual."

"That should be easy for you."

"Huh? Why easier for me? You treat me like shit!"

"Do not. Remember all those times we helped each other out?"

"You've tried to _ruin_ _my life_ before. You've betrayed me more times than I can count. Berated and belittled me..."

"So what are you saying? You _want_ me to call you an ugly bird all the time?"

"If it will keep Frank from finding out we banged, then yes. I'm okay with returning to the status quo."

"He'll know anyway. We know everything about each other."

"It's creepy, sometimes, how 'close' you two are. All things considered."

"Huh?"

He's our father, Dee thinks. Well, he's _Charlie_'s father. Does he really count as her father anymore? Well, he _does_ pay her rent.

"Let's hope he doesn't pick up on it. Now get out of my room."

"You're kicking me out?!"

"You can sleep on the couch, if you want. Though Frank will be wondering where you are if you don't go home tonight. Pretty suspicious, staying at my place."

"We got shitfaced and blacked out. Just like usual."

"That's our story," Dee agrees.

"That's our story," Charlie says, but makes no motion to move his hand or get up, so Dee shoves him away. She stands and retrieves her robe, clucking disapprovingly at the spilled rum and soiled sheets.

"I'm going to the bathroom and going to bed. You stay in the living room, okay? _No cuddling_."

"God, no. Eww," Charlie says, pulling his shirt on and leaving the room. "The thought never even crossed my mind."

* * *

The next morning, Dee enters the living room to find Charlie curled up in a ball on her couch, his green army jacket draped over him. She feels guilty for a second about kicking him out of her bed, but only for a second. Charlie snores as loudly as any other noise from his lips - something Dee doesn't remember from sharing his own bed that one time, since the meowing cats drowned out the sound of his breathing - so she's glad he didn't sleep beside her. She still could have given him a blanket and pillow.

As she fetches breakfast that will cooperate with her hangover, Dee considers throwing bits of cereal at Charlie, to see how many it takes to wake him up. The man looks harmless when he's asleep, which Dee knows is deceptive. Dee knows all his quirks, his weaknesses, his triggers and neuroses. Now she knows what it's like to have him inside her, and the thought is disconcerting, though not as disconcerting as being okay with it.

Dee wonders if kissing him is as pleasurable sober as it is drunk, and that's a dangerous thought. It turns her stomach that it's even crossed her mind in the daylight.

"Get up," she says, kicking her friend in the ribs with her bare foot. Charlie jerks awake and rubs his eyes.

"Morning," he mumbles, sitting up, tossing his jacket aside and stumbling to his feet. "Gotta take a piss," he says, not that Dee cares to know. She sits down at her small kitchen table with a bowl of Cheerios. She can feel him standing behind her when he returns and says, "I had the craziest dream that you and I _banged _last night! How weird is that?"

Dee chokes on her cereal.

"You were pretty good, too," Charlie says, opening the refrigerator and removing a carton of orange juice. He clears his throat, but his voice breaks a little when he says, more softly, "_Really_ good."

Dee smiles and is tempted to prompt him with an innocent, "Go on," but that would sound like she's fishing for compliments. She should be more thankful he thinks it was a dream.

"Hang on a sec," Charlie says, sitting down across from her. "Something doesn't add up."

"What doesn't add up?"

"Obviously we didn't _actually _bang, 'cuz I still have all my clothes on and I was passed out on the couch over there. And, of course, I would never cheat on the Waitress."

Dee rolls her eyes, "Oh, _please."_

"Ruby doesn't count."

"Sure."

"But I _do_ remember you kissing me. I was all like, 'No, Dee, no! I'm not that kinda guy!'"

"Funny I can't recall any of this."

"Unless that was part of the dream, too." Charlie shrugs. "Whatever, anyway, you should be flattered."

Dee shakes her head. "I'm not flattered. I'm not flattered at all! I'm disgusted! Why would you think sharing your sex dream about me would be flattering?"

"Hang on, there's something else."

"Jesus, Charlie..."

"My shirt's on backwards."

"So?"

"Why'd I take my shirt off?"

Annoyed, Dee gets up to dump her bowl in the sink. She grips the edge and takes a deep breath. Before he starts playing detective, she should get it over with and tell him the truth.

"We had sex, okay? We had sex and it was terrible and we'll never speak of it ever again."

She turns around. Charlie is staring at her with wide eyes and an open mouth.

"Wow. That's...wow."

Dee can't read his shocked look, so she asks, "Good wow, or bad wow?"

Scratching his head, Charlie evades the question, saying, "I'm surprised you fessed up to that one, Dee. If I were you..."

Dee groans and covers her face with her hand.

"...I'd have taken _that_ one to my _grave_."

"So you won't tell the guys?"

"What? No! Of course not! I don't kiss and tell."

"You're gonna tell Mac, aren't you?" Dee says. He shakes his head, but after knowing him this long, she can tell when he's lying. "He's just gonna give you shit about it for the rest of your life, ya know."

Charlie takes a sip of orange juice straight from the carton. Looking thoughtful, he asks, "You really think the _rest of_ my life?"

"Oh my God. Why would you want to tell him? You hate me. You insult me all the time."

"Well there's some stuff I, like, want a guy's point of view about?"

"But Mac doesn't know anything about...Mac doesn't even _like_...Never mind. Forget I asked."

Dee throws up her hands and exits the kitchen. Charlie follows her.

"So, uh..."

"_What?" _Dee snaps. "I need to get showered and dressed."

"Did I hear you say I was terrible?"

Dee shakes her head. "Not _terrible_, just...Not _good_."

"That's still better than terrible," Charlie says. Thinking for a moment, he appears to remember something, then adds, looking smug, "A lot better, actually, since I remember you _coming on my dick_ pretty clearly."

Dee turns away, gagging. "Gross, Charlie!"

"It was _awesome!_"

She grabs a towel from her linen closet. "I don't want to hear this!"

Charlie laughs. "You were riding me so hard, just banging away..."

"Listen, assmunch," Dee says, wagging a finger at him. "You shut the hell up and wipe that grin off your face, or so help me God, I'm going to smack it off!"

"You were beautiful."

With those three words, Dee's anger melts away almost as quickly as it boiled. He doesn't appear to be lying, now. Dee brushes her hair out of her face, tucking some behind her ear, eyes darting between Charlie and the floor. She hugs the towel close to her and doesn't quite smile.

"Thanks," she says

Charlie just shrugs.

"You're welcome."

Dee shuts the bathroom door in his face, though not so hard as she planned on doing ten seconds earlier. She opens it up again and calls out, "Would you like to take a shower? I mean when I'm done."

Charlie smiles. Dee knows from experience that, in his apartment, Charlie doesn't get many opportunities to wash in a private bathroom.

"Yeah! Yeah, thanks, that'd be great!"

Dee shuts the door again and turns on the tap. If she was more cynical, she could say the gesture was just to buy his silence.

* * *

Dee drives them to Paddy's and it's only once they're parked out front that she realizes Charlie smells like Pantene conditioner and Dove body wash. That will be the guys' first, most obvious clue something is different, though the question, "Why does Charlie smell like Sweet Dee?" has an innocent enough answer. It's not like they showered _together_ or anything.

It's early, only 10:00 a.m., but the guys are already there. The three of them are arguing about robots or something, and neither Dennis nor Mac notice enough to take a breath, whereas Frank turns around on his stool to squint at them and say, "Something's up, but I can't put my finger on it."

"Good morning to you too, Frank," Charlie says.

Sounding more like an angry spouse than a concerned roommate, Frank sternly asks, "Why weren't you home last night?"

"I crashed at Dee's."

"I was worried! You should have called!"

"He's a grown man, Frank," Dee says, but Frank just gives her a look to stay out of it. Like she's a bad enough influence as it is.

"Alright, alright!" Charlie says. "It won't happen again. But come on, cut a guy some slack. I need my space."

The expression on his face says, With _her?_ but Frank concedes, throwing up his hands, "You're right, Charlie. I don't need to know what you're doing all the time. Unlike these two clowns."

Frank gestures to Dennis and Mac, who Dee recalls are so wrapped up in each other they text almost every hour.

"Let's not go there again," Charlie says.

"Yeah, I ended up with five cats in my wall last time we split them up." Dee shoots Charlie a glare. "Which was all your fault."

"You _asked_ for my help."

"I didn't ask you to put five cats in my goddamn wall!"

"Well next time be more specific."

"What kind of twisted logic led you to believe multiple cats would guide each other out..."

"You gotta think like a cat! And that was...that was _three years _ago.I thought those times I totaled your car would rank higher on the list of shit..."

"...of a _wall_. Yeah it was three years, and that's not a long time ago. What the hell, Charlie? You are not helping your case bringing up the times you destroyed my car."

"Guys."

"...that I've done to piss you off. What case? I'm just saying that if you're gonna be mad at me for something, be mad at me for something that was actually _bad_."

"Ya know, what? It's _all_ bad. All of it. I don't even know why I'm friends with you."

_"Guys."_

"If you're gonna be a bitch, I don't know why I'm friends with you either."

"You are _such_ an asshole."

"Charlie, Deandra..._Shut the hell up!"_

The pair falls silent.

"I think I know what's going on here." Frank appraises them silently for a moment. "You two banged, didn't you?"

"What?!" Dee exclaims shrilly. "That's not..."

"How can you even begin to..."

"...true at _all_. I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"...make that connection. Just 'cuz we're arguing about cats and walls..."

"...and he's calling me a bitch. I mean...who does that, huh? Certainly not lovers."

"Or friends. With benefits."

"No! No benefits."

"_Dennis!_" Frank's voice booms. "Charlie banged your sister!"

Dennis and Mac are struck dumb by this news, eyes widening in shock.

"Dude?" Mac says.

Dee crosses her arms and Charlie shoves his hands in his pockets. He whistles to fill the silence.

_"Dude!_" Mac repeats, looking appalled. "_Her?"_

Charlie shrugs sheepishly. Dee can't look anyone in the eye.

_"Him?"_ Dennis says, his expression more akin to anger than astonishment.

Dee wants to shrink into the floor. To bolt for the door and run and run and never come back. At the very least, her twin hasn't teased Charlie yet for having sex with her. His reaction seems to be the opposite. She doesn't know which is worse.

"I was drunk," Charlie says. "She took advantage of me!"

"That is _not_ how it happened!"

"Nah, that sounds about right," Mac says.

Frank nods in agreement, like that's the only reasonable explanation.

Dennis has narrowed his eyes at Dee and she can only avert her gaze for so long. Even with a queasy stomach and a migraine, all Dee wants to do right now is drink heavily, even if that's what got her into this situation in the first place. She brushes past Dennis on her way to the vodka.

"Really, Dee?" he whispers. "_Charlie?_ You're really scraping the bottom of the barrel now."

"Well he's better than _some_ of the assholes I've dated."

Dennis looks even more taken aback.

"Better? The man's a joke!" Dee smirks. "You mean _better_ better? Oh my God..."

"No! That's not what I..."

"Oh my God."

"...meant. Jesus, get a grip on yourself."

Dennis is giving her one of those jealous looks of his that she can't quite read, silently fuming over something so insignificant - (and so, well, _inevitable, _Dee thinks, before burying the thought) - it doesn't warrant anything more than a mocking laugh. The laughter would be bad enough to send her retreating back to the bottle, but Dennis looks like he's been betrayed.

It's Dennis who ceases Mac and Frank's interrogation, not out of any kindness to Dee, but because it's making him uncomfortable. He changes the subject back to whatever nonsense they were discussing before Dee and Charlie entered, which is when Dee catches Charlie's eye and he mouths, "I told you." He was right. Frank would just be able to tell.

"Say I put my brain in a robot body and there's a war," Mac is saying. "Robots versus humans. Which side am I on?"

"Humans!" Frank says. "You have a human brain."

"But...the humans discriminate against you. You can't even vote!" says Dennis.

They continue prattling on, but Dee isn't listening.

Charlie doesn't look so scandalized now as he pretended to be. His eyebrows raise when Dee holds up the bottle of vodka and subtly tilts her head towards the back office. Charlie nods, comprehending, and suppresses a smile. Dee smiles back, and the others are none the wiser, not really paying attention to anything but the sound of their own voices. If Frank notices, he notices, because nothing gets past Frank. It had been foolish to think otherwise. It was foolish to get drunk together, too, but it had been three years too long, and Charlie had called her beautiful.

* * *

_**Endnote:** Thanks for reading! This fic made a lot of references to particular episodes, and in case you think I made them up with all the rest of the fic, here they are: Dee's lover Rex (from "America's Next Top Paddy's Billboard Model Contest" and "Dee Gives Birth"), Charlie's lover Ruby Taft (from "Charlie and Dee Find Love"), the game TechPocalypse (also from "Charlie Rules the World"), Maureen Ponderosa's wedding (from, obviously, "The Maureen Ponderosa Wedding Massacre"), that time Dee stayed at Charlie's apartment ("Dennis Reynolds: An Erotic Life"), the expression "browning out" ("Who Got Dee Pregnant"), Charlie putting cats in Dee's wall ("Mac and Dennis Break Up"), cooking up some steaks ("Mac and Dennis: Manhunters"), doing cocaine ("The Gang Gets Whacked, Part Two"), two real life night clubs in Philly, and Dennis and Dee going clubbing ("Frank Sets Sweet Dee on Fire")._


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